


Chicken Soup Stories

by TheVulpineHero1



Category: Hololive, Lucky Star (Anime & Manga), One Hundred Percent Orange Juice, SUGURI (Video Games), Touhou Project
Genre: F/F, Ficlet Collection, Fluff, Slice of Life, wordcount: 500
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-02
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:27:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 7,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26257891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheVulpineHero1/pseuds/TheVulpineHero1
Summary: A collection of 500 word stories from various series and with various characters. They won't usually follow on from each other, but are collected here for convenience.
Relationships: Hiiragi Kagami/Izumi Konata, Inugami Korone/Nekomata Okayu, Nath/Sora/Sham, Sora/Nath, Suguri/Hime
Comments: 9
Kudos: 71





	1. On the tiles (100% OJ, Sora/Nath/Sham)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll explain the title of this collection and some ancillary details at the end of the chapter, but for now, readers of my drabble collection (A Little Sack of Drabbles) will find themselves familiar with the premise and formatting. I'll be adding chapter summaries/indices when there's a few more chapters to post.

“Ugh.”  
  
It’s been a fine night. Not too warm, not too cold. Leaves curling in the middle of autumn. The evening’s constellations in full view. Nath tries to keep her gait steady, her head straight.  
  
They went to a club together for the first time. Of course, it was Sham’s idea. She took them to a place with smooth jazz, sparkling wine, servers in dinner jackets and sharp, pointed shoes. She dressed up for the occasion – maybe a little too much. She could feel people staring at her, even though she had her prosthetics on.  
  
She never thought she’d wear this evening dress. Red, backless, with a v-shaped neckline and no sleeves. Form-fitting. For a long time, she didn’t have the courage to wear dresses like these; when she finally stopped caring, she found she no longer had the occasion to.  
  
Beside her, walking a little more unsteadily than usual, is Sham herself. She was experimenting with a more boyish look tonight, she says – white shirt, black pants, a waistcoat, and a red tie. It’s a good look for her – stylish, without being too showy.  
  
On her back, moaning softly in a little black dress, is Sora, who has spent her night discovering alcopops.  
  
They crept up on her, of course. That’s what they’re designed to do. Attractive colours, flavours that mask the taste of alcohol. So many to try, so much to experience. She’s never been intoxicated before, and she didn’t see it coming until she tried to stand up.  
  
At the very least, she is a happy drunk. Even now, with her cheeks flushed and her head spinning, she has a quiet, satisfied little smile. For Nath, there is something deeply important about that. She is safe and among friends, and she knows it.  
  
“You wanna switch?” Sham asks. “She’s not too heavy, right?”  
  
“It’s fine.” She grips Sora’s legs a little tighter. “But if she starts throwing up, I’ll make sure to pass her over. How’re you feeling?”  
  
“Ahahaha. I think I had a couple of rum and cokes too many, but I’m alright. You sure it’s okay to stay at your house?”  
  
“It should be fine. I’m short on beds, but I don’t think I’d trust either of you to get home by yourselves.”  
  
It isn’t the most dignified way to end a night out. But it was fun. Even she can admit that. A little bit out of her comfort zone, and she’s still not sure the world is ready for this kind of neckline. But fun.  
  
Sora presses her head against her as she walks – her cheeks warm against the cool skin of her back.  
  
“Love you guys”, she mumbles, with the confidence of the happily drunk. “Really… really…”  
  
They halt, and look at each other.  
  
“Aw… I hope I’m not too drunk to remember this in the morning…” Sham mutters. There are tears in the corners of her eyes.  
  
It’s been a fine night, Nath thinks. She’s looking forward to the next one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, quite recently I got hit by a case of burnout from writing. I'm not the quickest writer, but I do write every day if circumstances permit, and found myself in a position where I hadn't done a story genuinely for myself -- i.e. not part of a longer project, gift fic, request, or similar -- in almost 3/4 of a year. In that 3/4 of a year, I had upped both my output and my consistency of output significantly to try and keep up with the demand, and started taking projects that would take months to complete back-to-back. Needless to say, I crashed pretty hard.
> 
> The truth, unfortunately, is that neither my schedule or my work habits really allow for an extended break, and I'm already back at work on projects (though at a slower rate than before). These 500 word stories are part of my recovery plan to break up long projects into more manageable chunks; they're just short enough that I can finish one in a day without rushing, but long enough to think about more complex ideas than drabbles, which allows me to examine ideas I've wanted to do for myself without taking extended breaks from a project.
> 
> The reason I've called these 'Chicken Soup Stories' is because they're meant to be something that helps me back to creative health, like chicken soup when you're ill. Hopefully it works, and they'll provide something enjoyable for you guys as well.


	2. Speak with your hands (100% OJ, Sora/Nath)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unlike my drabble collection, I'm going to list the series and the principal pairings of a piece in the title here, since I think it will be more beneficial for people who go chapter by chapter rather than viewing the entire collection at once.

Sora talks differently with her to everybody else.

She’s seen it, from the corner of her eye, when Sora speaks with Hime or Suguri or Sham. Always quietly, politely. Such a soft voice, for a girl with so much power.

Perhaps it’s an issue of confidence. Communication has never been her forte; her kind words and desire for peace never won over anybody during the war. (For the record, Nath likes to think she would have joined her. But the skein of history is tangled. Nobody knows for sure what might have been, even them).

The uncertainty seeps through in her words. She slows mid-thought, picking and choosing her sentences. Trying to test their weight. She gropes for words that aren’t quite there, scowls ever so slightly when they slip through her fingertips. Often, she tires of explaining herself, and chooses not to. She is fortunate to be surrounded by the long-lived, who have learned patience by necessity; there aren’t many who make the effort to listen to her, as she needs to be listened to.

It’s why, in Nath’s opinion, Sham is a blessing to her. Anybody can see that. The idol has the gift of the gab, but more importantly, she is always listening to what Sora has to say – with both her ears, and her heart. She takes the words Sora is looking for, and renders them with charm and eloquence. Nobody else can provide that for her. Nobody could even hope to.

But in her own way, Sora is moving forward.

Words aren’t the only way to communicate, and bit by bit, she is exploring her avenues. Her face is more expressive than it once was; where once she kept her gaze fixed towards the person she was speaking to ( _eyes on the enemy, always look at your commanding officer when they speak_ ), now she is full of meaningful glances, letting her eyes fill in the gaps that her mouth leaves.

More than anything, she has learned to speak with her hands. She has always been dextrous, and good at manual work; her gestures are understated, but wonderfully expressive for anybody who pays attention to them. With such small subtle movements, she nudges people along the path they need to go, and trusts they can find the rest of the way themselves.

Except for Nath.

When she speaks to Nath, her hands are perfectly still. It’s obvious why. In a sense, it’s an act of kindness. Of not flaunting privileges Nath doesn’t have. But it’s a kindness that forces Sora to stay in her quiet world, where people struggle to understand her. That’s not the kind of kindness that Nath wants. Not at all.

She has yet to consider the idea that for Sora, speaking with her hands is just as exhausting as speaking with words. That her hands are still because, with Nath, she is relaxed.

She will, though. In time. It’s easy to forget, after all, that communication has never been Nath’s forte, either.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of my goals with these stories is not to care too much if they suck; after all, I can always write another one. Writing for other people is extremely high maintenance, and I'm always second-guessing and worrying whether what I'm doing is 100% the best I can do. I think part of what I've missed about doing stories for myself is the relaxing feeling of just exploring an idea without worrying as much about what people will think of it or where the idea goes.


	3. What they say (Touhou, Marisa/Nitori)

“Oi, Nitori. D’ya mind if I ask you something?”

Ordinarily, there would be a pause there – some chance for her to shake her head, say no, or make any response at all. But that’s just not the way Marisa is. Even three beers in, her wits are quick enough to realise that if she gives people the chance to say no, they might just take her up on it.

“Is it true what they say about kappa?”

“Ahaha… that depends what they’re saying.”

Nitori tugs at her collar. It’s a little too hot so far from the river, and the sake is only warming her body more. She came to the feast because she heard there’d be a new type of sushi stolen from the Outside World – _gunkan maki_ wrapped with cucumber instead of seaweed. So far, there’s been rice and there’s been cucumber, but no evidence that the two can co-exist peacefully under clumsy human hands.

It’s not been a bad night, she supposes. Just a noisy one. She’s a rare guest at the Hakurei Shrine, and the bawdier youkai are a little much for her.

“We-ll,” Marisa begins, and Nitori’s heart sinks. Whatever they’re saying about kappa apparently isn’t good, because Marisa has lowered her voice. She’s not whispering – the witch has been to enough parties and doled out enough gossip to know that whispering can be louder than shouting, depending on where you do it.

It’s her way of being considerate, especially to a shy girl like Nitori. But it doesn’t matter how quietly she speaks. There are certain guests who will _always_ hang onto Marisa’s every word.

The witch takes another swig of her beer. Still nonchalant. “Do kappa really have three anuses?”

Somebody at the table spits out their drink.

“H-hey! Don’t go spreading weird rumours like that!” Nitori hisses. But the damage is already done. People are looking at her. Or, rather, _youkai_ are looking at her, with curiosity in their eyes. They’re not the type of creatures to let a mystery sit beneath their noses. They’re the type to roll up their sleeves and check, common decency be damned.

She feels herself shrinking back. She doesn’t want to be here any more. It’s too hot, too loud, too _dangerous_. She needs to make her escape. Maybe the optical camouflage – but will it work on so many different types of youkai? There’s bound to be at least one who’ll see through it –

“Oh, wait. Did I get it wrong?” Marisa throws her a meaningful, if drunken glance, and holds up one hand for peace. “That’s right, yeah. It wasn’t three _anuses_. It was three _assholes_. The blonde hair, the dark hair and the green hair, right?”

The talk quickly turns back to other matters; there’s no interest for random nameless kappa. For now, she is saved. Marisa mouths one word – _sorry_ – and goes back to her drink.

Nitori sighs. What a clumsy and troublesome ally she’s found herself.

But an ally, all the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was reading through some material on youkai, and found a claim that kappa do indeed have three anuses, so they can pass thrice as much gas as the average human.
> 
> The blonde, green and black haired kappa are a reference to the kappa mob in Touhou Gensou Wanderer Reloaded.


	4. Notoriety (100% OJ, Suguri/Hime)

“Oh, my. I’m very sorry, Suguri, but I can’t eat a bite more. I think I’ve been sufficiently baconated for one morning.”

This was a shame, because Suguri’s breakfast in bed consisted entirely of bacon. She’d been practising in secret, waiting for Hime to sleep in one day and allow her to activate her Emergency Breakfast In Bed Protocol. Unfortunately, she had practised so hard at making bacon that she seemed to have lost the ability to make anything else, or operate any piece of kitchen equipment that was not a frying pan. She’d tried the toaster. The toaster no longer worked. It was a disaster.

Only slightly less of a disaster was Hime’s hair, which did not officially exist at this moment in time. Hime did not suffer from bed head, and implying that she did was a war crime. Her soft, golden curls naturally arranged themselves the moment she woke up, and anybody who did not share this vision of reality could look forward to being summarily executed, or at least tickled until they had to relearn how to breathe. As a result, her hair was currently invisible, until such a time as it took a form humankind was more comfortable with.

This was, however, not the only oddity about Hime’s appearance. Her eyes, bowing to the pressure to be ecologically conscious, had brought their own bags with them to the store today. She was obviously tired – not a bad kind of tired, necessarily, but she had the air of a bedraggled philosopher who had been up all night achieving enlightenment, and who would have made considerably better progress if they’d just gone to sleep.

Suguri noticed, of course. As the significant other, it was her _job_ to notice. The only question was how to broach the subject. In the end, she settled for tactfully suggesting that they could, if the mood took them, have a lie-in for the day. There would be cuddling.

“Well, it’s my own fault. After you went to bed last night, I stayed up for a little while on the computer.”

“Ah,” Suguri nodded. This made sense. There were many videos of cats that Hime was yet to consume.

“And, after a while, I happened to search your name on the internet.”

Suguri nodded. Then she shook her head. Then she shook the rest of her body as fear energy vibrated through her molecules.

“Did you know that people draw pictures of you and put them on the internet?” Hime said, with a distant smile. “In such a variety of… hmhm. _Poses_ , shall we say.”

Suguri gulped. A wiser woman might well have taken the opportunity to start running.

“You know, I do think you’re right. I think that _we_ , collectively, could do with a lie-in. And I believe you mentioned cuddles? Yes, I think I could use some cuddling.”

Hime’s soft smile permitted no escape.

And Suguri had the sinking feeling that even bacon could not prepare her for what was coming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Suguri's ten thousand years old. You can barely go one year on the internet without somebody making lewd fanart of you nowadays.
> 
> Source: just trust me


	5. Best Laid Plans (Touhou, Keine/Cirno)

Keine looked at the ruined remains of her plans for the day, and sighed.

She wasn’t _sad_ , per se. Not really. Life in Gensokyo prepared a person for things going wrong; there were too many eccentrics, with too many fingers in too many pies, for even simple things to go without incident.

Her Sunday School was a perfect example of that. At first, it was meant to be just for humans. Unlike certain shrine maidens, she had no interest in helping youkai or playing at being friends with them.

But then the fairies started showing up, and things quickly went off the rails. The human children didn’t mind them – supported them, even, since they were energetic and fun to play with. Several thoughts had battled inside Keine’s heart – a genuine passion for teaching, a love of kids, pity for idiots, the desire to shield her human charges from any accidental harm, and the sneaking admission that fairies were not, _technically_ , youkai. If they could be made more friendly to humankind, perhaps even _useful…_

Then they brought friends, and _of course_ their friends were the low-level, punk youkai that were friendliest towards humans and most acceptable to the villagers. Soon she was outvoted by her own classroom, and before she knew it, she was teaching an entirely mixed class.

It had been a swelteringly hot day, and, as a treat – let nobody say that she was against fun – she’d prepared something special. The owner of Kourindou had sold her “a castle that is fortified with air and, once erected, can fully contain the power of water.” Or, in the words of the passing Moriya Shrine maiden, a paddling pool. It seemed like a good way to reward her students for their diligence (or what passed for it) on such a hot day.

Everything went well until Cirno showed up.

It wasn’t her fault. Not really. That was the worst thing about it. She saw the others sitting at the side, kicking their feet in the water, and followed suit. That was what fairies did; nobody could blame her for it.

But then the water started to freeze around her ankles.

Unperturbed, she hiked her dress and waded into the centre of the pool, miniature icebergs floating along in her wake, to join in on all the splashing and playing that the other children were doing.

But the water Cirno splashed was very cold. So cold, in fact, that some of the children started to take offence. One very bold child, the blacksmith’s son, gave her a rough shove as a warning.

Fairies were very light.

She toppled backwards, the sharp tips of her icy wings fluttering as she did.

Something went ‘pop’. And suddenly the school grounds were more irrigated than the village field.

Nothing ever went right in Gensokyo. As she looked over a ruined paddling pool and crying children, Keine sighed heavily.

But she still gave Cirno a comforting rub on the head as she cleared up the mess.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was originally going to do a Sanae story today, but since it was 9/9, thought I might as well do a Cirno instead.


	6. A Guest in Wonderland (Touhou, Sanae)

Sanae closed her eyes, and listened to the silence.

Her clock, one of the last stubborn survivors from the outside world, had stopped last night. Out of batteries. She missed it already – the constant, re-assuring ‘tock-tock’ (it had been a cheaply made kind of clock. The budget had not allowed for the inclusion of ticks). She’d had it since she was a child, and now it was gone; she’d almost certainly never see another like it.

She rolled over in her futon.

Her mobile phone was, of course, dead. She took it out sometimes and played with the empty shell, as if hoping that it might come to life. Maybe it would become a tsukumogami if she wished hard enough. It wasn’t impossible, although it might take a very long time. A hundred years, or something like that…? It was a long time to wait to be able to play Tetris again.

The quicker option would be to get the kappa to make batteries, but it was a project that didn’t hold any interest to the majority of them. Kappa thought big, not small. Anything that didn’t need hydro-electric generators or nuclear power wasn’t worth bothering with; it could just be run off a person’s spiritual power as far as they were concerned. Which was fine, for new inventions, but it wouldn’t bring back the clock she missed, or the phone she had grown attached to.

It was strange how technology could be both modern and nostalgic to her at the same time. A bizarre oxymoron.

It wasn’t just her phone and her clock. Most of her wardrobe had been lost as well. The conditions were so different here, and modern clothes were only made to last a few years or so anyway. Not to mention the wear and tear was a little more excessive. Stains at festivals, tears from flying low amongst the branches. Singed holes from barely dodged danmaku. Her favourite jeans had never stood a chance.

But that was just how it was, wasn’t it? That was Gensokyo. The land of gods and phantoms and youkai, the land of the ancient and forgotten. Humans lived here, but they did not flourish or advance; they existed because they were allowed to, because it was convenient for things larger and stronger and more mysterious than them.

Modern things didn’t belong here. They atrophied. They broke down. And they did it so quickly, so easily, like the land itself was destroying them. They didn’t belong here, any more than kamaitachi or yamabiko belonged in the outside world.

She rolled over again.

When she thought about it –

When she thought about it, she really wasn’t too much older than that clock, or that phone.

She, too, was a modern thing in a land of myth. How long would it take for Gensokyo to reject her, as well?

She wouldn’t let it happen. She couldn’t.

She’d work harder. She’d change.

Gensokyo demanded myths. And Sanae had decided: she would become a legend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here's the Sanae story I said I was going to do.
> 
> For now, I'm going to take a break from Chicken Soup to make and upload something longer and stretch myself a bit more, but it's been excellent so far, and I'm sure I'll return to it before long.


	7. What will be, Yubi (Hololive, Korone/Okayu)

It was a slow morning at the Inugami Bakery. The winter had finally bitten, and even though the inside of the bakery was snug, the store window had frosted over on the outside. Even hot coffee and croissants struggled to tempt customers out of their warm cars and offices on a day like that.

It was, perhaps, for the best. One of the morning staff had called in sick with a fever, and Korone had been left to work the register. Usually she spent most of her time safely in the back of shop, working the dough and minding the ovens, but today the owner had decided to handle it. It couldn’t be helped, and she knew it couldn’t be helped, but still… For a shy person like her, it was tough to deal with the customers.

Thankfully, they were few and far between, so she spent the extra time and energy polishing the display cases and setting out tables for dine-in customers during the lunch rush. By then, things would have warmed up, and people would happily stroll back out of their offices to forage for food. When that was done, the owner would go out on delivery… the shape of the day was forming in her head.

The bell tinkled as somebody walked into the store. Her head shot up as she greeted them with the traditional ‘irasshaimase’ – and then her face broke into a smile.

“Oh, Koro-san. You’re on the till today, huh?”

Okayu. Her favourite customer. Possibly her favourite _anything_. There was a lot about her to love. A soothing voice, a way with words – always talking, always teasing, gently drawing you out of yourself, little by little. And a sense of humour so close to her own that if one of them laughed, the other inevitably joined in.

“Okayu!” she said. It was a start. The rest of the words muddled themselves up in her mouth; she wanted to say all sorts of things at once, and none of them came out.

“Hahaha. You seem like you’re doing fine. Just don’t box any of the customers, alright?” Okayu said, miming a three hit combo. Just like that, she cut through the mess of sound Korone found herself making. She was good at that. “So, what’s good on the menu today?”

“Everything. The owner’s baking today.” She put her hands on her hips and thrust out her chest proudly.

“Oh? But you know… I kinda prefer it when you bake. Right, here!”

The cat held out her hands. Korone looked at them, tilting her head, before reaching out…

“Gotcha!” Like a flash, Okayu pressed her cold fingers against her cheeks.

“Ahh! What you you think you’re doing?!”

“Warming myself up. What’s that saying – warm cheeks, warm heart?”

“It’s warm _hands_ , and yours are freezing! Geez…”

She pouted, but it wouldn’t be long before they were laughing together again. Slowly, the customers began to file in – to a bakery that was just a little warmer than before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've said elsewhere that I don't plan on doing too many Hololive/OkaKoro stories, and that still remains true; ultimately, there are a few problems that stop me wanting to commit to it. One of them is that I'm a writer who's mostly interested in characters and in developing those characters; I like to do stories where the characters gradually grow, evolve, and become more detailed. This is not particularly possible when the characters themselves are in flux outside of my work, developing in ways I can't necessarily predict and in a language I don't necessarily understand. (The reason this story might feel a little stiff is because of that iterative process I go through -- I haven't really put time into 'discovering' them or a setting to contain them, and have to go through those early establishments in 500 words).
> 
> Gosh darn it, they sure are cute though. So I guess I can do a little generic fluff from time to time. As a treat.


	8. Midnight Oil (Touhou, Marisa)

A still summer night in the Forest of Magic. Constellations wink down above the canopy; insects, of the kind the outside world has gratefully forgotten, fill the night with unsettling cries.

In the Kirisame Magic Shop, an oil lantern squeaks as Marisa adjusts the valve. She prefers candles when she can get them, because she’s as devoted to the aesthetics of a witch as she is any other part of the package, but her lantern is a reliable friend on her long nights of study and preparation. She’s found she can run it on the same mushroom extract that fuels the Hakkero, so she’s always got a ready fuel supply.

Fuel – where to get it, and how much you can grab – is part and parcel of being a witch. All spells need reagents; some are rare, delicate, hard to acquire and easy to waste. They don’t last all that long, either. When she first started to learn magic, she had no idea how much of her time would be spent on just pickling things to use later.

That’s why, for all their claims to the contrary, Alice and Patchouli are just as bad about hoarding as she is – they just collect dolls and books, whereas she’ll collect _everything_. Gunpowder, crystals, mercury… she takes them while she can, by force if she has to, because if she runs out the magic stops. Without magic, she’s no stronger than an ordinary human.

The scratching of her quill continues as the night draws on.

To be honest, she wanted to be in bed by now. But she finds that her materials have more potency if she prepares them under the stars. Maybe it’s just because that’s her speciality. Maybe it’s something more. With magic, it’s hard to tell the root cause of anything; all that matters is the result.

She’s grown to love reagents she can make herself, or at least source easily. Powerful spells are all well and good, but they’re useless if you can’t get the stuff to fire them. Sure, everybody makes fun of her mushroom picking habits, but the mushrooms _work_ , they’re there in abundance, and she even knows how to grow them. Sustainable fuel sources for a practical lifestyle.

It’s the same with the materials she’s making now. They’re not free, by any means – she still needs to source ink and paper, and time is an ingredient that only gets scarcer as life goes on. But she’s not roaming around outdoors searching for the scales on a moth’s wings, so it’s something.

When she’s done, she folds the paper up carefully, and puts them in a drawer where nobody will find them. The last she places gently onto the hakkero, and watches as it burns. They came out well again tonight. Not that anybody will know about it, other than her – though they don’t work without a name on them.

How do you fuel a ‘love powered master spark’?

Get good at writing love letters, for a start.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I keep saying that I'll write a longer touhou story one day, and this feeds into one of the concepts I've had for that.


	9. Yubi on Down (Hololive, Korone/Okayu)

Monday evening at a back-street karaoke club, two drinks and five songs in. She’s belting out old anime theme songs into the microphone, digging deep for the low notes and hearing her voice whistle on the high.

It’s been a rough day. She heard one of the customers talking about her as they left, while she was rushing by a tray for the display window. ‘A troublesome woman’, they called her. It’s the small cuts that hurt the most. After that, it felt like her balance was off for the rest of the day – too loud, too quiet, too fast and too slow. Just a little bit wrong, no matter how she tried to adjust herself.

Okayu’s solution was karaoke. It often is. A chance to drink, to dance, to burn off whatever’s eating you in the privacy of a soundproof booth. “Just sing,” the cat says softly, “and let the rest take care of itself for a while. You’re always trying to do too much, Koro-san.”

It’s good advice. It helps that Okayu’s voice is mellow, soulful. It’s a pleasure to hear her sing. Even just to hear her speak. It’s easy to get lost in the music when Okayu takes the mic; her glass and the plate of snacks seem to empty by themselves.

The cat’s glass stays fuller for longer. She’s learned by now how to nurse a drink; she’s a little more slender than most, and the alcohol seems to strip away her social filter with surprising ease. After the first few times, she adapted, and now she drinks in small, measured sips, with the smugness that comes of being in control.

But even so, she’s a lot less guarded than she thinks she is. It’s the confidence that does it. She has the self-assuredness to reach out to people, even touch them, and her feelings come across in those little brushes of her fingertips, the way she nudges your shoulder. She doesn’t even seem to realise she’s doing it.

Sometimes, Korone wishes she could be like that – that she could brush past the fear of being a ‘troublesome woman’, to extend a hand to people without hesitation.. Or even just that she had more people she wanted to extend a hand to. Right now, the only person she can truly reach out to is just in front of her.

It must show on her face, because Okayu sighs when she puts down the microphone. “Geez, Koro-san. How much energy do you even have?” she chides gently. “Well. We’d better order an extension.” She pauses. “And another beer. It’s been a while, so I’ll keep you company tonight.”

“Ah… Sorry. I mean, thank you. Okayu.”

She waves her hand idly – _it’s nothing_. “We should look pick a song you can really get your teeth into, though. Let’s see… Wonder if they have any death metal?”

“Oi, oi!”

They’re both giggling as they browse the tracklist. But eventually – as always – they settle on a love song instead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like writing about introvert Korone, but I'm sure I'll do stories where she's more energetic at some point. For Okayu's characterisation, I basically had some of her wii fit collab in mind (during which she and Korone couldn't seem to keep their hands off each other).


	10. Missives to a Mind Reader (Touhou, Satori/Remilia/Utsuho)

Satori’s pen scratches against paper – a rare luxury. Gensokyo has access to paper from the outside world, but the kind of youkai that live in the Underground are the kind that really rather _enjoy_ pulling the skin off things, so parchment is easier to find. Although she lives in a palace, she’s against buying luxuries for herself – but she’s friends with Remilia, for whom frivolous luxuries are a badge of honour.

The western style fountain pen she’s using is a gift from the vampire, too. As is the ink – a deep, emerald green. Not suited at all for bureaucratic functions. Not that it was ever meant to be. She smiles at that. All the stationary you might want to write a letter to a friend.

“Really now,” she murmurs aloud. “What kind of person tries to drop hints to a mind reader?”

_The kind of person who doesn’t care if you’re a mind reader or not,_ somebody thinks in the other room.

Satori rarely ever speaks to herself. She is, almost always, surrounded by animals, pets of all shapes and temperaments. As a rule, their senses are finer than a human’s or an oni’s; they can hear her as well when she whispers as when she shouts. Most of them can tell when she’s in a bad mood just from the sound of her footsteps.

She can’t say it’s not a comfortable life, although it _is_ a little noisy. Hearing so many minds echo inside hers can be disorientating, and opening herself up to so many creatures can be emotionally taxing.

There are, however, things she can do to offset it. Having a sprawling home means it’s easy to pick a room in one of the far-flung wings and designate it as a quiet place. She’s also been told (by the miko of the Moriya Shrine) that a hat made of folded foil is a good defense, although she can’t see how she’d stand the constant rustling.

Her secret weapon is Okuu, whose mind is a very interesting place. Listening to Okuu’s thoughts is a bit like putting your ear to a seashell; it is a pleasant, ambient noise without much character. Sometimes a coherent thought does make its way across her mind, in the same way that a caravan of travellers occasionally make their way across a desert without dying halfway through. And yet, her favourite pet is also a nuclear physicist. It isn’t that she’s _stupid_ , it’s just… she’s quite close to achieving enlightenment, sometimes. Yes, that’s the kindest way to put it.

She scratches Okuu under the chin, and continues her letter to Remilia. She’s sure the vampire’s ‘pen pal’ obsession is just her newest fad, and will be forgotten quickly enough. A shame. She really rather liked the idea. It’s nice to speak in a way that has no danger of reading somebody’s mind.

In Remilia’s case, there’s little danger of being able to read her handwriting, either. But that’s a thought she keeps to herself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm thinking of enlightenment in the same way as it's used in reference to Koishi's connection with the Buddhist sect -- a total emptiness or absence of thought. Which really goes well with Utsuho Reiuji's name, come to think of it. This was just a little character study type story for stress relief.


	11. The Long Road (Lucky Star, Kagami/Konata)

“I have no interest in being a lesbian in real life.”

She doesn’t know why, of all the countless inane things Konata has said over the years, that’s the one that’s stuck with her. Discarding the issue of her sexuality – and there is no issue that Kagami is quite so eager to gloss over – it poses an interesting question. Just how segregated is Konata’s online persona from her real-life personality? What is the point at which one bleeds into the other?

That, in short, was how she found herself staring at the stats screen of a popular MMORPG, wishing the gap between level forty and level thirty-nine was not nearly so large.

At first, she wanted it to be just a little side project. Just to satisfy her intellectual curiosity. If she joined the same MMORPG that Konata was playing, surely they’d run into each other in short order. It wouldn’t take long. She could just play it a little after finishing her homework.

But then she realised that the top level raids, the real meat of the game’s content and the focus of much of the community, were locked until level eighty. Those were the kind of raids that Konata would no doubt be doing. So, with only mild trepidation, she began to climb.

At around level twenty-two, she had begun to realise that, even online, she and Konata lived in different worlds. Exp curves, farming spots, cooldown rotations, drop rates, guild dues, twinking – she could barely believe the amount of things she had to do for her next level up. How had Konata, everybody’s favourite slacker, acquired a habit that took so much work – so much _diligence_? It was the opposite of how she behaved in real life. Perhaps the online Konata was a different person after all.

She’d gotten her first marriage proposal at level thirty-two. She declined, of course, but it stuck with her. An online marriage – a contract between two people that only existed in a fantasy world. Sometimes it was just based on material goods and added perks, but wasn’t that true of marriage in real life? For others, it seemed almost genuine. As if the fantasy was enough for them. A digital home, wife, even kids…

She stops for the night at level forty-one. She got a legendary bow that the forums say is good, but there are bags under her eyes that will still be there in the morning.

She’s making french toast for breakfast (diet be damned) when the phone rings. After a click, Konata’s voice floats through the speakers, with a distressingly familiar question.

“ _Kagamin, do you mind if I copy your homework?_ ”

Unusually, she crumples. She’s too tired to give out a lecture today.

“ _Actually, that reminds me. Tsukasa said you’d started playing E**rquest. What server are you on?_ ”

“Uh… Aradune, I think?”

“ _That’s a shame. I’m on Cazic-Thule._ ”

Kagami says nothing. The toast sizzles in the pan.

And the road to level eighty is very long indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't play MMORPGs myself, so I just picked one that I felt would have probably been pretty popular in the mid 2000s when Lucky Star itself was set. The server names are from modern times, though, and I have no idea if Everquest actually has raids and what levels they're gated at if it does. (I put it as E**rquest in the text as a joke about how sometimes in anime and manga, the actual name of a real world property will be blanked out or censored.)
> 
> Lucky Star is pretty old nowadays, but for people of my age, it stands out as one of the great grandfather series of western anime/manga culture, and a lot of us have touched on it at some point. I wanted to do a story about it, just once.


	12. Mogu Mogu Memory Game (Hololive, Okayu/Korone)

Mogu Mogu… Okayu!

So, for the next topic…

I heard recently that memory and sense of smell are connected. Like, if you smell a seaweed and rice ball, it’ll bring back memories of when your parents made them for you as a child-cat.

So, when you think about it like that… when you think about it like that, isn’t Koro-san’s memory so good because she’s a dog?

Yeah, yeah. That must be right.

As for me, I forget things all the time. I guess you would say I’m the type that has a lot of RAM, but no storage. Wouldn’t that make it tricky to play PC games? Well, it’s just my brain, so I guess it doesn’t matter, ha ha.

Thankfully, I can rely on Koro-san for most of the big stuff. She’s scary good at that. I can just text her over Line at any time and ask her my schedule, and somehow she’ll know exactly where I’m meant to be that day. It’s convenient, but I wonder if it’s really okay like that.

Ah, but sometimes she gets the answer wrong on purpose. I’ll ask her and she’ll say, “ _Ogayu! You were meant to come and visit me at the station today! How could you forget?!”,_ and I’ll say, bzzt! Wrong! I’m meant to be at a dance lesson right now!

Yeah, yeah, yeah. That’s how it is.

Ah, but that’s Koro-san for you. She might act goofy, but she’s weirdly conscious of people around her, right? She’ll fill your glass as soon as it empties, and she’ll pay attention to your expressions so she can worry about them later. If she wasn’t so conscious about things, she’d probably have it a lot easier when it comes to reaching out to people. Ah, but if she wasn’t so conscious, she wouldn’t be Koro-san. That’s just how it is.

Actually, come to think of it, isn’t her memory a little _too_ good? Hahaha. And considering how she watches people… She might be the kind of person who keeps her grudges for a long, long time.

Shion, Aqua, are you going to be okay? You might want to think about making arrangements, just in case. Ahahaha.

Eh? Using Koro-san is too convenient? Isn’t there anything I have to remember myself?

Hm, hm. Well, thinking about it… Yeah, yeah, that’s right. There are a few things like that.

For instance, I can’t ask Koro-san to remember her own birthday for me. That’s going a bit too far.

What else… Hm. I can’t ask her to remember stories about herself, either. Ah, but even I can’t remember all of them. There’s so many. Really, if you looked for a hundred years, you still wouldn’t find someone exactly like Koro-san, I think.

So, that’s how it is. I’ll work hard to remember all the Koro-san stories, and I’ll ask her to remember everything else. Ahahaha.

Let’s see… Ah, but next, let’s talk about Temanyan. Usually she’s so friendly, but the last time…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a bit more free time for myself lately, so I haven't needed to do too much Soup. But I felt like doing one, so here you go!
> 
> This came about because I heard a clip where Okayu referred to Korone as her 'hard drive'. I can't make something that sounds exactly like Okayu talking, given the language barrier but I did try to work in some approximations of her vocalisations (sou, sou, sou, sou...) Honestly, clips of Okayu just telling stories about herself (and often Korone, since she's so erratic and often a good topic) are some of my favourite hololive content. Shout out to the fan translators for helping me to enjoy them!


	13. Vicarious (Hololive, Okayu/Korone)

Once more.

It’s been a cold, blustery day. Okayu draws her blanket closer around her body, and warms her hands on one last cup of cocoa before bed. She was meant to be in bed an hour ago, but she’s been watching archives of other people’s streams – trying to catch up a little with her co-workers.

She doesn’t usually watch any one video more than once. New ones are always coming out, after all. But there’s one exception – one little video that stayed in her tabs for a week after she first watched it, and then found its way into her bookmarks from there. Her favourite.

It is, of all things, a collaboration between Korone and Pekora.

What keeps drawing her back to it? It isn’t their natural chemistry, although there is that. They have a volatile, chaotic kind of dynamic, always pushing and pulling in different directions; it’s hard to keep up, so she finds something new on almost every rewatch. She’s honestly surprised by how well the arrangement turned out; at first, everyone had misgivings about a collab between two chaotic idols with communication disorders.

But maybe that’s what she likes about it. That the collab even exists is proof that her best friend is growing, becoming braver and more sure of herself through her own efforts. She’s learned to reach out to her kouhai, even the ones who were just as shy as she is. Little bubbles of pride swell up in her chest as Okayu considers the thought, as they always do.

However, if it were just that, almost any of Korone’s recent collaborations could be her favourite. But there’s something about Pekora – the way they interact and play off each other – that makes it special.

Pekora is… well. She has a talent for being teased. And people forget, but there’s a part of Korone that _loves_ messing with people, if you can just draw it out. With Pekora, she’s a natural S-type: good natured but relentless, steamrolling her kouhai with smug doggo energy. It’s hilarious.

And, for Okayu, bittersweet.

Korone’s teasing is something she can can see, but never touch. In their private moments, the dog is meeker, milder, gentler. It’s wonderful, make no mistake; her best friend is as dear to her as her own skin.

But as a self-proclaimed masochist, Okayu can’t help but be a little jealous of her white rabbit kouhai. She’s seeing a part of Korone that Okayu can no longer touch.

“Well. Well, well,” she murmurs, and takes another deep draw from her cocoa. She can feel sleep creeping up on her.

At least this video exists. At least she can still feel this sensation, even if only vicariously. She’ll have to be nicer to Pekora in future – a little thank you for something she doesn’t know she did.

And while she’s at it, she might give Korone some tips. She has talent, but her teasing technique could use some work.

She can’t wait to see them in action.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not super happy with this, but Chicken Soup as a collection is about just writing something for stress relief and then moving on, so I think it's fine.


	14. Competitive (Hololive, Korone/Okayu)

Nekomata Okayu’s tail was not in the habit of lashing. People often looked to it as an indicator of her feelings, and always went away disappointed; like its owner, it was usually relaxed, languid, and just a little ambivalent.

But as she watched Korone finishing off her boxing for the day, she felt as if it might.

It was odd. She never found boxing that emotive when she watched it on TV – not that she made a habit of it. If there was a fight on, sometimes she’d tune in, just to understand her best friend’s hobby a bit better. It didn’t help much. She admired top flight athletes for their willingness to go through incredible difficulties in pursuit of a goal, but it just wasn’t a state of mind she had experienced herself. It was hard to empathise with them, especially since they didn’t usually seem like they were having fun. Well, not like getting hit in the face is particularly fun anyway.

But was different when she was watching Korone. For one, she was a lot closer to the action. Even just sitting on the bench near her at the gym was an entirely different experience to lying on the sofa and watching people slug each other on the screen.

For two, when Korone hit, she _hit_. The jabs were fine, the jabs were okay, but every time she threw a hook, the fittings for the punching bag creaked ominously, and there was the alarming crack of leather-on-leather. Even though she was well out of pummelling distance, Okayu couldn’t help but flinch at the force of the impact.

All that would have been agitating enough. But there was another reason that Okayu felt her tail beginning to swish.

When Korone put on her gloves and stepped up to the bag, her eyes only faced forward. Left, right, left. The staccato rhythm of jabs with the sharp percussion of a hook or a straight; bobbing, weaving, attacking. There was no room in her world for anything else. For a few minutes – long, endless minutes – she entered a place where Okayu could not tread. Her attention was absolutely, irrevocably, undeniably on the punching bag.

And not on Okayu.

Such a silly, childish feeling. Jealous! Of a punching bag! She wanted to take herself aside and say, ‘There’s only so much of an M you can be, you know?’ In a way, she found it hilarious. There was Korone, competing with other boxers and with her own physical limits, and here she was trying to compete with the gym equipment. Maybe she was getting too clingy after all.

Still, she thought as Korone finished her reps and wiped the sweat from her brow, she had some advantages that the punching bag didn’t.

For one, nobody said the punching bag’s name the way that Korone said hers.

And two… well. Okayu smiled to herself as she thought it.

The punching bag didn’t get to see Korone fresh out of her post-workout shower.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Little bit of a silly story this time, after watching Okayu admit to being much clingier than Korone in their day to day life. There were actually a few moments I was considering basing a story on recently -- Okayu wanting to get pair rings and be spoiled by Korone, and Korone listening to Okayu's ASMR to help her sleep were also in the running.


End file.
